


The Agony

by Rebecca_exe1



Category: Original Work
Genre: Friendship, Interrogation, Suffering, Torture, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 19:55:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29889717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rebecca_exe1/pseuds/Rebecca_exe1
Summary: A soldier, in the heart of war, is detained. An unlikely friend is made in Ben, an interrogator for the opposing side, who wishes to do anything but what he knows he has to.Another little short story to add to the archive. I hope you enjoy! :)
Kudos: 1





	The Agony

The Agony

“This is your last chance. Do you want to tell me?”  
“No.”  
His name is Ben. I know nothing else of him. He’s the head interrogator, and I, more or less, a soldier. I’d hardly label myself as such though, having been made a hostage due to my own carelessness. Death is almost deserving for the slack I’ve built in battle. Although I will say, their invasion of our base came as a surprise. Nearly everyone I’d fought alongside had either been shot on sight or taken.   
I’d encountered Ben entirely by accident. Because our opposers had taken so many of us, Ben was assigned as an extra guard. After witnessing his panicked struggle to assemble his firearm, a blunder we both knew would land him with a bullet in his skull, I assembled it for him just as his general approached him. I couldn’t stand the idea of watching yet another man die for this causeless violence. He was also a kind man, relative to his position. The gesture was never meant to be more than one of compassion, though over a week-span of my imprisonment, I found myself following behind him when he’d come to my cell block, ensuring his every move met the opposer’s standards. I’d whisper instruction into his ear, he’d breed flawless execution. He admitted to me several times that he saw no point to this war, to the violence that left our sister countries in shambles and our own reduced to nothing. I shared the same feelings with him.   
We continued this until the hunger left me too weak to stand, and now, it’s my turn to be interrogated. He’d put it off for long enough, making one excuse after the next to avoid it. He can’t anymore.   
“You don’t have to tell me everything. The location of one base would be enough,” Ben explains in a low tone. He turns me around to face him rather than the door of Interrogation 1.   
“No.”   
He gives a weighted sigh. “Well then, it’s been an honor to witness your bravery. I wish I could have had the opportunity under different circumstances.”   
I don’t respond. How can I? Is there a proper way to discuss my own potential death? If so, I haven’t begun to unravel the method. And so we stand in silence, his hand tightly clasped around my upper arm.   
He seems to tremble, then shift behind me. I can’t see why he’s moving, having faced the door once again, and I don’t turn back. His breathing grows labored.   
“Are you okay?” I ask.   
“Tell me to shoot you in the head,” he suddenly whispers.   
“What?”   
The echo of his gun being cocked sends me upright in terror. He squeezes my arm tightly. “Please.”  
“Why?” I ask.   
“Because a bullet’s the best I can do for you now. Take it while you can.”  
I shake my head. “I don’t want to die yet.”  
He turns me to him again, flushed in the face. “If you’re not dead when I’m finished, you’ll wish you’d taken my offer. It still stands.” He holds up the gun.   
“No.”   
“Listen to me,” he starts in my ear. “You’ve been very helpful, very kind- maybe the only man I can stomach here. I’m tempted to call you a friend. I don’t want to do this to you. Tell me to shoot you.”  
I face the door.   
Again, he sighs. “Very well. When this is finished, I’d like you to remember the man I was yesterday. If you can,” he adds.   
“I surely will,” I tell him, and I mean it.   
All he can offer is his silence on the matter. The light above the door buzzes red, and his grip on me tightens. “Forgive me, friend.” 

The agony, it was unlike any pain I’ve ever experienced in my lifetime. I can’t recall how long I suffered in that all-metal room, but I assume at least half a day. Though just as well, it may have only been a few hours. I couldn’t have been more grateful to have experienced it by Ben’s hand, because I know if anyone else had done what he did to me, I wouldn’t have lived. I vaguely remember him whispering into my ear, “it’s almost over”, like that of a lover sharing an intimate moment. I have no memory of what happened next, as I lost consciousness midway through, though I woke up without my sight. It was definitely for the better. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could’ve watched myself be torn apart. To this day, I’m too afraid to touch my face and find out exactly what he did. 

When Ben let up from me, I remember hearing the door open. Some men came in, speaking too quickly for me to translate. Ben shouted back at them, saying he had done his job. Then, I believe I felt Ben put his hand on what was left of my face. “Hurry,” he shouted. “While you can! It’s in my left hand!” I didn’t make sense of it at first, then came the shot, and I understood. 

I have no memory of the next several days. I only recall the pain, and even then, the work of three men paled in comparison to what Ben had done. Somehow, through a miracle, I was presumed dead and left at the remains of the opposer’s base when they evacuated. I remember the sound of vehicles thundering over the hills, and I only prayed they would hear the blood gurgling in my throat and stop. When they settled, many men began combing through the sight. At some point, a man found his way to me, and I heard him say, “good lord, that’s a person.” Someone else began wrenching. 

It may be for the best altogether that Ben took my sight that day. I’ve been told by many that I’m frightening to look at, and I’m sure I am, but I prefer to view my disfigurement as Ben’s final mark on this earth, a piece of fine art. If there is a God, I hope He spares that man. 

The more I think of that time, the more I stop and wonder why I didn’t tell him to shoot me between the eyes. Though more importantly, I wonder why I ever held out in that room for a war I didn’t want to fight.


End file.
